


Escape Into Without

by Kittycattycat



Category: The Stanley Parable
Genre: Angst, Gen, M/M, Other, i don't know I wrote it two or so months back and it's not totally terrible so I'm posting it, i guess, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2019-03-19 07:43:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13699998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kittycattycat/pseuds/Kittycattycat
Summary: The grass is green, the sky is blue, the scent of fresh, clean air wafts all around, and The Narrator has lost Stanley.





	Escape Into Without

Oh.

Oh god. 

Where was he?

Where was he where was he where was he where-?!

“Oh god, Stanley, I don’t-”

 

The Narrator froze. He scrambled off the ground, tears blurring his vision and panic overtaking all other emotions. His head whipped and around in all directions and he was shaking he could hardly stand. No one was there it was just wheat and grass and sunlight everything was gone gone gone oh god where was the office he needed the office he needed the plain walls and empty office and Stanley. Oh god oh god oh god where was he?! He was the Narrator he needed Stanley oh god, “STANLEY?! STANLEY, PLEASE COME BACK!”

“STANLEY! STANLEY?!” He yelled out into the air. He attempted to run, but he wasn't used to this terrain, this, this dirt, and he tripped. His glasses slid off the bridge of his nose and he couldn't he couldn't do this what the hell had Stanley done to him?!

Everything was wide and open and bright and there was too much everything. It hurt it hurt it hurt he wanted to go back he wanted to go back into his little office with his microphone and his monitors and his script—

Oh god, his script.

“I can’t find the script.” he murmured, tears and snot streaming down his face. His fingernails dug harshly into the soil and that only made his throat close tighter.

“H-How am I supposed to finish the story?” he chokes, “How-how does it end!? I don’t even remember!”

The Narrator’s voice cracked and the wind that previously blowed at his hair now howled directly into his ears. Cold sweat dripped down his neck. He's trying to remember anything anything other than this but he just can't it's impossible he can't think not here not now. His memory won't go past his wooden oak desk and his office and his building and his story- 

“Why did this have to happen!? Why couldn’t you just listen to me!? You’ve ruined us! There’s no fixing THIS!” he yells to nothing. Maybe Stanley can still hear him. He doubts it. 

Eventually, it's all too much. He gives up trying to stand and collapses into the dirt once and for all. His glasses have fallen somewhere else. His hair is scruffy and covered in dirt and, god, bugs. The soil below him is becoming wet from his crying and he just knows there are splatters of mud all over his face and his dress shirt and his brand new shoes.

So he lays there, and sobs, and mourns the loss of his story that will never see its end.


End file.
